Strangers
by DethGab
Summary: The situation is an age old cliché, well worn, but no less effective. Axel Roxas language


Roxas and Axel

* * *

The situation is an age old cliché, well worn, but no less effective. It is fate that they meet here of all places. It is the culmination of the chase. After countless lives in countless worlds they finally meet again. As they said they would.

* * *

A blonde freshman hurries through the hall, thankful, for once, that he is so small. The sprawling school grounds are a veritable _maze_. He would be lucky to arrive at the right room half an hour late. It really didn't help that he had just transferred yesterday and had yet to made any friends on Blue days.

A tall, scarlet haired senior strolls along with a cocksure swagger. He is a varsity basketballer surrounded by an entourage of teammates. Everyone knows his name and knows just as well to move from his path of face the wrath of his posse. Even the small blonde who transferred yesterday has heard of the basketball team's star player, though he hasn't seen him yet.

One too busy being popular, the other desperately confused by the layout of the school; naturally, they are both too preoccupied to take note of each other until they collide. The difference in height between them is glaringly obvious from so close up; the blonde barely clears the senior's collarbone. Both are disoriented by the jarring halt but neither is too off balance to forget basic manners. The blonde takes a step back so his face isn't in the other's chest. They seek each other's eyes, apology on the tip of each tongue.

Startling emerald hued eyes meet bliss blues.

With this meeting of gazes, the bustling hall is silent, the city pauses, the world ceases its rotations—the entire universe condenses down into the spark that passes between the two of them.

All too quickly, humanity tries to catch up. The clique of basketball jocks spring into action around their queen bee. Some begin to make crude comments about the blonde's sexuality, others make overtures at physical violence, but the nucleus of the group gives a curt 'fuck off' and they scatter, confused but obedient.

The blonde's throat dries, the apology at his lips spills back down his throat. "Do you… have we, are you—?" he attempts breathlessly, sapphire eyes flashing with recognition. He feels there is so much to say, so many emotions to let out; anger, joy, frustration, longing… there just aren't enough words in any language, enough oxygen on Earth, enough time in an eternity to convey it all. He feels so much, so strongly but he doesn't—couldn't even begin to understand the firestorm inside, ripping his guts to pulp. The forces within him are aching to touch the redhead, but whether to kick his ass into next millennium or to kiss him stupid is the dilemma with that. Both urges are intense enough to make his fingers tremble and his heart constrict with the restraint it takes to keep from lunging at the older boy. He settles for staring helplessly into the vivid emerald eyes gazing at him.

The redhead's heart stops a moment as overwhelming joy floods him, fills him to the brim, nearly pushing tears from his eyes. The first response in him to the emotion is to throw his arms around the smaller frame, kiss his silken blonde spikes, caress plush cheeks. But for the sake of his face and, more importantly, the blonde's piece of mind, he refrains. The one thing he can't repress is the brilliant, breath-stealing grin that spreads across his face and lights his eyes.

Around them the hall is crowded and people are pushing and laughing, talking and staring. But all is muted in the moments between them, they are in a bubble of their own world, overflowing with lose and finding and affection and anger.

The hall gradually begins to clear. The minute bell rings. Stragglers hurry past them, but neither notice. They are lost.

The blonde is the first to break their staring match. He shakes his head sharply, attempting—quite unsuccessfully—to dislodge the confusing thoughts, push them somewhere else for later analysis. His eyes refocus on the redhead, in them blazing a bright, angry sort of passion. "Gomen na—uh, I mean, I'm sorry, senpai," he says , unable to stave off the honorific or the slight bow. When he straightens he directs his smoldering gaze back to the taller boy's. "'A stranger's just someone you've forgotten,' ne?"

The older boy, had he been at his best, would have made a smart comment about Japan or accents or exchange students—something; but, as he is not at his best, he simply nods and attempts to shove down his natural response to that _Look. _He'd never even met the kid before, so why was he getting that confusing look from him? The redhead's first interpretation of it is 'I Want to Fuck You Until Neither of Us Can Stand Let Alone Think Straight,' which is disconcerting and homosexual, but he can be okay with it. Then, upon further inspection, he picks up a note of angry violence. So it can also mean, 'I Want to Kick Your Ass So Hard Your Spine Comes Our the Top of Your Head,' which is even more alarming and not a very good sign besides. He had had plenty of practice decoding glances and stares, but never before had he seen two so radically different meanings in the looks of adoring girls. Quite frankly, he is scared shitless of whatever the little blonde has in store.

The late bell rings but the hall is empty of people who care; neither of them so much as flinches.

Going to class might just be the furthest thing from the blonde's mind; he could care less about it being his second day or what his teachers will think or how much he's missing. His brain is stuck on the redhead and his green eyes and how much he has missed him. "Do you—?" he begins, taking a quick glance around the older boy to a side door leading to the school's lawn, and beyond that, the parking lot. The tinge of indecisiveness leaves him. "Do you wanna ditch school and catch up?"

The redhead is too distracted by The Look, which gives the phrase 'catch up' a few, totally different, meanings. The only response he can formulate is a grin and a nod as his higher intellect is whirring away, trying to figure out if he's going to be in too much pain or not.

Roxas grins broadly and grabs Axel's forearm, then leads him out the door.

* * *

Inspired by _Oh, Hello_ by Circa Survive


End file.
